Satisfaction
by LadyDivine91
Summary: After a long trip, including several delays, Blaine finally makes it to New York to see his fiance ... bringing along something special that's sure to spice up their weekend. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


**Notes: So, life has been kicking my butt this month so I'm posting all of these late. I apologize. Written for the Klaine/CC Valentine's Challenge 2019 prompt 'Sweetener' by Ariana Grande.**

_Knock-knock-knock!_

Blaine runs a hand over his hair, loosens his scarf, unbuttons his coat and smooths his wrinkled sweater. He checks his breath. The air around him is too cold to smell anything, so he waits a second and checks it again. And even though he's sure his breath doesn't offend, he pops a Tic-Tac to be on the safe side. He came straight to the loft from the airport without stopping in the men's room to freshen up. He couldn't. He didn't have the time to spare. His first flight had been canceled, and his next flight, which managed to take off between combating pressure systems, landed thirty minutes late. He only gets the weekend with Kurt before he has to be back in Lima, studying for an AP History exam, and he's already missed most of Friday night.

He's determined to make every second he has left count.

After doing a full once over of his person, he pounds on the door again.

_Knock-knock-knock!_

He starts to worry when he doesn't hear movement on the other side of the door. He'd texted Kurt every step of the way to let him know he'd be delayed, and Kurt didn't seem angry. On the contrary, he seemed beyond excited to see Blaine again. The last text message Blaine received was full of kissie face and eggplant emojis.

He can't see that being anything other than positive.

But maybe Kurt went out to get something from the store on the corner? A bottle of sparkling cider or a box of condoms. _Shoot_! Blaine should have mentioned that he'd brought a new box with him. He would give Kurt a call, but his cell phone battery died the second his cab pulled up to the curb. He considers leaving his stuff by the door and heading down there to search for him, but the pitter-patter of bare feet racing towards the door stops him.

Blaine grins when he hears several locks and bolts being thrown. The doors slides open and there Kurt stands, as dashing and as breathtaking as ever in black slacks and a black button-down, the first two buttons casually undone.

"Hello there, handsome," he purrs, looking appreciatively down Blaine's body, pausing to assess the baggage at his feet. "Fancy meeting you here."

Blaine arches an eyebrow. It's an unusual greeting, but not a bad one. From the tone of his voice, Kurt definitely has something planned.

Blaine decides to go with it.

"You know, you gave me the address, so you increased the odds of us meeting again considerably."

"So I have. Did you bring it?"

"Oh, yeah." Blaine lifts the discreet brown paper bag so Kurt can see. "I _definitely_ brought it."

Kurt bites his lower lip. "Well, well, well. Come on in, kind sir. And thank you so much for coming out in this horrible weather to bring me my … _delivery_."

"Oh, you're very welcome," Blaine says, shivering at this spontaneous roleplay with his gorgeous fiancé.

Kurt must _really_ be excited to see him.

"This is a nice place." Blaine saunters in and looks around as if he's never seen it before when, in fact, part of their history as intendeds is already written here – in pictures on the wall, the spinet piano in the corner, Blaine's clothes in the closet and his sheets on the bed.

"You think so?"

Blaine puts down his luggage and sheds his coat. "Yeah. A ton of space for someone who lives … _alone_?"

"I have a roommate." Kurt stops in front of Blaine and toys suggestively with his bowtie, tugging at it gently, slipping a finger beneath the band. "But she's out of town."

"That's fortunate, isn't it?"

"Very," Kurt says, lips ghosting Blaine's mouth. And while Blaine is distracted chasing Kurt's lips, Kurt reaches down and relieves Blaine of the paper bag he's been carrying with him. "So …" He backs away, knowing Blaine will follow "… where should we get started?"

"Hmm, on the couch?" Blaine suggests, but Kurt passes it by without a glance.

"Sorry. That's broken."

"Pity. Then … the kitchen table?"

"Pffft …" Kurt shakes his head "… not too romantic, is it?"

"The floor?" Blaine asks, even though Kurt is obviously leading him to the bedroom.

Kurt stops for a moment, looks up in thought. "Possibly …" He feels the floorboards with his foot "… but, no. I really do think that the _bedroom_ is the perfect place for what I have planned."

"Ooo …" Blaine grins "… then by all means, lead the way."

Kurt, absconding with the brown paper bag, backs his way through the privacy curtain that surrounds his corner of the loft. Through the sheer white fabric, Blaine can see Kurt's king-sized bed –his black, pinstripe comforter tucked neatly around the edges, giving them a clean, flat surface to work with; red and white rose petals sprinkled here and there; with a white blanket folded over twice in the center.

In case things get _messy_.

"It looks like you have things all set," Blaine says, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

"I didn't want to waste any time." Kurt sets the bag at the foot of the bed and undoes the button to his slacks.

Blaine watches Kurt unzip his fly and grins. "Would you like to do the honors?" He gestures to the bag, eyebrows bouncing up and down.

Kurt giggles. "Absolutely! Let's get this party started."

Blaine watches his fiancé dive into the bag, eagerly pulling out container after container and lining them up in the center of the mattress: chicken adobo, oxtail stew, tapsilog, lumpia – all the dishes he fell in love with eating over at the Anderson house on the nights he stayed over. Even with its reputation of being a food goldmine, Kurt hasn't found a single restaurant in New York that makes Filipino cuisine the way Blaine's mother does. And since Pam Anderson loves her son-to-be, she makes sure to pack a plethora of Kurt's favorite meals to send with Blaine when he visits.

Kurt picks up one container bulging with food and pops the lid. He inhales deeply and sighs. "Blaine, your mother is a _saint_!"

"Don't tell her that!" Blaine dishes silverware and napkins out of the bag. "I finally got her to admit that _I'm_ her favorite son! I don't need you toppling me off my pedestal!"

"Blaine …" Kurt snatches a fork out of his fiancé's hand "… if it gets me more of her amazing cooking, I'm going to tell her whatever I have to!"

"Fine," Blaine mutters, slightly disgruntled, "but I have one question."

"Shoot," Kurt says, rearranging the containers in order from appetizer to dessert.

"Are we going to have sex tonight? Or are we just going to eat?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course we will." Kurt lifts a forkful of pancit to his watering mouth. "But food first. Priorities, Blaine. Priorities."


End file.
